


Hellbound

by SoldierOfMyShadowyMind



Series: Yours [3]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional pain, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6352372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoldierOfMyShadowyMind/pseuds/SoldierOfMyShadowyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to scream but there are no words at the back of his throat, there isn’t even a single, pathetic sound other than the terrible sob he lets out when fingers curl around his wrists, seizing them firmly but gently in their uncontrollable desire to do damage. Then he’s being pulled forward and Will gives up, surrenders completely when Ethan draws him into a tight embrace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellbound

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I’d make up for the cruelty that was _In Ogni Senso_ …  
> So you get a snippet - again. Can’t keep writing on the big things. Written at two in the morning. This happens when I think too much.
> 
> I truly didn't intend to bring Ethan back (yes, I am a bad person) and I'm still debating with myself whether or not to rule this an actual sequel. So I let you decide what you think is best and read this in the light you want to see it. So: can be read as a standalone, can be read as a sequel to _In Ogni Senso (Baby, come home)_ , you decide.

Will has gotten used to the dullness of the days some time ago. He can’t tell exactly when, it’s all been some kind of a floating process, with highs and lows, those being the waves, sometimes crushing him with brutal, relentless force, sometimes carrying him towards what seemed the light at the far end of the bloody tunnel. Just that he never got this far, he never got to see the light, because at some point, he always fell off the wave, drowning in the grey sea. On the bad days it feels as though the tunnel stretches out the further he walks into it, as if the light is retreating further with every step he takes. On the really bad days the tunnel crashes in on him, burying him under tons of concrete, and he feels as if he’s suffocating, choking on thin air.

On the good days, though, Will doesn’t actually notice anything, he doesn’t feel and everything is dulled into a low throb somewhere in his body. He can’t locate it and honestly, he has no desire to do so. This is not what could be called living, what could be called moving on. That’s what he’s supposed to do but it doesn’t feel like it. Why? Because it doesn’t feel right leaving it all behind, for starters. It simply doesn’t feel like the right thing to do and it certainly doesn’t sound like something Will can do. At least not just yet. They – Benji, Jane, his therapist – have told him that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting it all. It doesn’t mean erasing that part of his life. But to Will it felt exactly like this. So instead of trying to seek… closure? he locks away the hurt day after day, and with it he locks away a tiny part of himself every day, each day a little bit of the man he was dies. What he has doesn’t matter because he has nothing, nothing of significance anyway. What he _had_ mattered and it still does and Will clings to it against his better judgement. They don’t know what he’s going through. Well, Jane can imagine perhaps but he doubts Benji can even grasp the edge of it. His therapist knows the least. She just keeps prodding him, pushing him to talk. What’s it to her, honestly? She’s been assigned to Will against his will, she didn’t know Ethan. Which is almost funny, really, since all the world seemed to know him. But while the world only scraped at the surface Will got to see the whole beauty that was lying just beneath it.

Will can feel the thoughts flooding back and he quickly takes the emergency exit, shutting them out. It’s about five in the morning – or six. It could be 3 am and Will wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. He honestly thought he could deal with it – after all the crap he went through in his tragedy of a life he thought he knew the worst part. His ass. The worst part was yet to come and hell, it was so much worse.

Now he keeps on existing but he’s not actually living. There is no real reason to, at least not one Will could unravel. It has gotten better – sure, it’s been a while. Eight weeks and five days. Six, counting today. Not that he’s been counting. Will scoffs, but no sound leaves his dry throat. Only eight bloody weeks and he feels as if he’s been through the whole thing twice already, passed every stage of shock and grief and whatever comes after that and then down into that dullness. It’s been keeping him company for the past couple of days and it’s here again after Will’s woken a few hours ago after another nightmare. It isn’t even new to him, this situation, but still he feels shattered. Utterly alone and broken, but he will never admit this to anyone. He can cope just fine on the outside. This has got to be enough.

Of course his friends are worried about him. Jane and Benji come to check on him in turns every few days. They came every day during the first weeks, came whenever they could get away from work but then Will started to wave them away, told them he could manage on his own and that he needed time to himself. Time to get this mess sorted. This mess that is him, and the emptiness of the flat, the coldness of the mattress beside him, the loneliness of the small kitchen in the mornings, the afternoons, the evenings.

He’s developed into an even more disastrous mess since.

So all of this is some kind of reason why Will isn’t surprised to find the coffee cold when he takes a sip, scrunching up his face in disgust. With a resigned sigh he slides the mug away from him, not even remembering making it in the first place, vaguely, uninterestedly wondering how long he’s been sitting here, and covers his face with his hands. He rakes them over his head, through his hair and back over his face but unfortunately the gesture doesn’t render him any more awake. He feels like crying again although the tears have run dry a while ago. Part of him is ashamed of it, part of him just doesn’t understand why that matters. What really fucking matters anyway, now? Nothing does, and Will knows he’s doing this all wrong but he can’t help it. Can’t help himself and fuck it, his fiancé died, what the hell is he supposed to do? It’s not as if he can go back and take another road. God, what he’d give to be able to go back and protect him. The world is an arsehole, it’s a fucking bitch and if Will’s shutting himself off then to hell with it, he doesn’t have to justify himself to anyone.

The knock on the door is a faint sound, a light tap on the wood, and at first Will thinks he’s imagined it but then there it is again, a little more forceful this time. No, not forceful, _enquiring_ , as if trying out how loud it can get without being adamant, pestering. The fact that there actually seems to be someone at the door has Will’s glance tiredly wandering through the room in search of a clock. 6:13 am, the thing on the kitchen wall helpfully tells him. Benji or Jane wouldn’t come at such an ungodly hour. The mornings are usually quiet, if he gets checked on by his friends it’s in the afternoon.

Wearily wondering who it could be Will heaves himself up from the chair and drags his feet over the floor towards the front door. He fumbles for the key in the soft semi-darkness and it takes him a full minute to get the key into the hole and unlock the door. A chilly breeze tickles his bare feet once the door creeps open a few inches and the first weak rays of a rising sun peek in, yet cautious if they’re allowed in. Will takes his time opening the door and he takes even longer to drag his eyes up, blink several times in an attempt to clear his vision. When his eyes focus he chances a first tired glance at the person standing on his doorstep.

Will stares for several seconds, then hurls the door shut. He turns around, flinching at the loud slam, and runs into the living room. He needs to catch his breath, needs to get oxygen into his lungs but the room seems airless no matter how often he sucks in breath after breath. His whole body is trembling and he feels as though he’s going to fall over, right down on the floor. He’ll just collapse and lie there, the impact will probably render him unconscious, and that actually doesn’t sound so bad. Will sucks in another breath, head hung, unbelieving eyes staring down at his shaking hands. He observes them, the nervous twitch of his muscles, then he tucks them away into the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms, hoping it’ll all just be all right again if he doesn’t see them shaking. Expectedly, the feeling of sickness doesn’t leave him and he really needs to sit down, close his eyes, calm himself down.

Instead Will takes another deep, trembling breath and turns, slowly, back towards the door. Slowly, unsteadily, he places step before step until he’s reached the front door again. His hand shoots out of his pocket and he rips the door open and then bolts. He’s back in the living room in under a second, back turned towards the entrance and now he’s shaking all over, trembling with a feeling he can’t grasp, can’t describe because it’s so unreal, so utterly and entirely _wrong_. Will hears his own breath coming out in short, sharp gasps and once again the room feels as if there’s not enough air to fill his aching lungs with. His brain is stupidly trying to find a reason why he slammed the door shut the first time round but it’s too early for logical reason to kick in and lecture him. Will tries to hold himself still and his shoulders sag considerably while he waits. For what though, only heaven knows.

And then it’s suddenly there, the sensation he’s craved for, yearned for so long as arms wrap around his waist from behind his back, gently pulling him closer.

Will stills.

This is it. This activates something inside of him, a switch in his brain, and Will spins around, hands clenched into fists raised to his middle and then he’s throwing the first punch. He doesn’t care what he’s hitting, he just hopes it hurts, that maybe he breaks a few bones. It’d be just, though. It’d be the only way to--

Will keeps punching, fists drumming on his chest, beating whatever spot he can find. He wants to scream but there are no words at the back of his throat, there isn’t even a single, pathetic sound other than the terrible sob he lets out when fingers curl around his wrists, seizing them firmly but gently in their uncontrollable desire to do damage. Then he’s being pulled forward and Will gives up, surrenders completely when Ethan draws him into a tight embrace. It’s all got an air of desperation around it but to be honest, that is the appropriate word for this, isn’t it? Utter desperation and misery, hurt to fill a lifetime with. Will lets himself be gathered against his lover’s chest and he slips his arms around Ethan’s back, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. He’s warm, so incredibly warm but the back of his shirt is cool, it must be the chilly morning air, Will thinks. He doesn’t really _think_ anything, though, as he presses himself against Ethan’s body, buries his face against the side of his neck, greedily breathing in the scent of the one person he’d thought he’d never see again, never hold again, the last person he expected to be standing on the other side of his door this early morning. Will wants to say something although he doesn’t know what, his mind is blank safe for one irrational, exciting thought.

_He’s back._

His heart is hammering in his chest, like a trapped bird in a cage, and the blood throbs loudly in his ears. Will’s lips form the name of his boyfriend, the sound coming out as a strangled sob. “Ethan.”

Then the tears finally come and Will lets them flow, hot and fast down his cheeks and they roll down to the corners of his mouth and wet Ethan’s skin where Will’s face is pressed against it. Ethan just holds him, tightly and tenderly he wraps Will into his arms, holds him to his chest, his cheek resting on the top of Will’s head. Will doesn’t know whether he’s awake or dreaming because all this just seems too good to be true and then he’s suddenly convinced he’s dreaming, and he draws back, a startled movement, scared that Ethan will be gone the second he lets go of him. But instead he’s staring into that beautiful face he’s missed so much and he searches for Ethan’s eyes, wants to hold their gaze again but he’s too shaky and he would have simply crumbled to the floor if Ethan didn’t hold him tightly to himself.

Their lips crash together, there’s nothing sweet about it, nothing tender at first. It’s pure longing, fear and desperation mixed into it creating a dangerous explosive mixture. Will screws his eyes shut and just _feels_. Ethan’s lips move against his, fiercely at first, demanding more, but then the kiss changes and Ethan draws back a little just to place a long, deep, gentle kiss on Will’s lips. Will answers, deepening the kiss, leaning into it, into Ethan. Ethan’s hand travels into his hair while the other grips him that tiny bit tighter and Will can’t help the sigh that sounds half like a moan slipping out of his mouth. He’s rather quickly becoming breathless and suddenly Ethan’s pulling back. But he doesn’t leave much space, leaning his forehead against Will’s so that they’re touching gently. His hand slips down to his neck and calloused fingers begin to caress Will’s skin. He sighs again, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

He’s got a fiancé again.

Ethan’s back.

He’s not dead.

He’s right here, in Will’s arms and he’s not going anywhere. Or rather, Will’s in his arms, holding on for dear life.

This is the moment where his knees decide that they’re not able to hold his weight any longer and he simply gives in, losing his stance, but Ethan holds him, prevents him from collapsing on the floor. But when he realises how Will’s stability depends on him and how every bit of remaining strength has left his body he slides down with him, never loosening his grip on him. They crouch down on the carpeted floor, a pile of entangled limbs and he pulls Will closer still. Will willingly complies, leaning against Ethan’s chest, his head on his shoulder.

They sit like this for a while, neither of them saying a word. Ethan’s rubbing circles into Will’s side, his other hand having travelled up to rest on his cheek. Will feels his heart slow down, his breathing get back to normal. He holds on to Ethan, pressing closer, and Ethan’s answer is reassuring when he wraps his arms even tighter around him. Ethan doesn’t let go and Will thinks there can’t be an inch left between their bodies and still he feels as if he’s not close enough, as if it might all just dissipate into nothingness when he draws back. And so Will doesn’t dare lift his head although he longs to see Ethan’s face, his eyes, the curve of his lips. He wonders if the smile is there but he can’t look, not now and so he just snuggles closer, feeling the warmth Ethan is radiating slowly soothe him.

“You’re back” he whispers unnecessarily, but it seems the only sensible thing to say and Will can’t bear the silence any longer, he has to hear his voice.

“Yes” Ethan mumbles into his hair, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his head, then one to his temple.

“You’re back” Will repeats stupidly.

“And I will never leave you again.”

A hushed promise which Will knows isn’t quite true but he tells his mind to fuck off and believes it.

“I’m so sorry, Will” Ethan begins but Will cuts him off, placing a finger on Ethan’s lips.

He doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t need to. It’ll only serve to bring back the hurt and right now Will’s feeling comfortably warm and this is the only thing he needs now. Finally drawing back – just a few inches – Will glances up and takes in Ethan’s face, studies his expression carefully, searching his eyes for any sign of trouble or hurt or even worse. What he finds, though, overwhelms him and he suddenly feels small, tiny and vulnerable in Ethan’s embrace. His fiancé is looking at him with the same intensity that can have Will squirming in discomfort or blushing to the tips of his ears, depending on the situation. Now it leaves Will unsure what to do, at a complete loss for words for Ethan is looking at him with so much _love_ that it has Will’s heart flutter wildly in his chest and he feels as though it might burst. Ethan’s eyes are locked on his and Will can’t look away, can’t bring himself to. He needs to tell himself over and over that this isn’t an illusion, that this is real, because never has anyone looked at him like this. An expression so full of love and tenderness that it makes Will feel that he is not enough, never can he return this much, never can he give as much as he’s getting right now. His chest constricts painfully when he struggles for a trembling breath. It’s nothing but the bare, utter truth. He can tell from the ghost of a smile playing around Ethan’s lips, the softness in his green eyes.

Will can’t hold it back anymore but when he cries again the tears are those of happiness although there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. It will take him a while to get over all this but he’s not alone anymore.

As if reading his mind Ethan pulls him close again, safely wraps him into his arms as if they’re a blanket and he whispers in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Will wants to speak, wants to tell him how much he loves him, how much he’s missed him but at the same time he wants to shout at him for leaving him thinking he was dead but he’s too confused to compose sentences so he just keeps his mouth shut and cries silently into Ethan’s shoulder. He can tell him all of this later on. It’ll have to wait.

And it’s all Will needs to hear when Ethan gently runs his hand through his hair and his lips graze Will’s ear in speech. “I’ve got you” he repeats and for the first time in eight weeks and six days Will feels safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always greatly appreciated! Have a nice day, everyone!


End file.
